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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26773117">your own two fists</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabbitprint/pseuds/rabbitprint'>rabbitprint</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:07:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,742</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26773117</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabbitprint/pseuds/rabbitprint</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers through Stormblood, set shortly after Ramuh in ARR MSQ. A Papalymo and Lyse short. </p>
<p>The Scions had a decent arrangement with the Wood Wailers when it came to borrowing the spare watchtowers for a night or two -- but it was important, as Papalymo often liked to remind Lyse, to not trek in mud, not drink all the ale in the cupboards, and assuredly not <i>bleed</i> all over everything. </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Papalymo Totolymo &amp; Lyse Hext, Papalymo Totolymo &amp; Yda Hext</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy Write Prompt Challenge 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>your own two fists</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <i>Prompt #22 from FFxivWrite 2020: 'argy-bargy.'</i>
</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Weathering the elements in the Shroud was a play on words which Papalymo found to be far more agreeable than the practice itself. Apart from the native aetherial entities, there was no shortage of physical creatures on the prowl to fill their bellies, and lalafells were the right size to serve as a convenient snack. There were insects bigger than he was, <em>much </em>bigger, each shimmering eye larger than his skull. He had no delusions when it came to the romance of camping under a night sky in the uncharted wilderness, inviting all manner of creatures to infest his bedroll; years of wandering about trying to save Eorzea had disillusioned him of <em>that</em>. <br/>
<br/>
Thankfully, the Scions had a decent arrangement with the Wood Wailers when it came to borrowing the spare watchtowers for a night or two. The Hawthorne Hut sheltered them whenever it had room, and the Sylphs had made it clear that he and Lyse were <em>always </em>welcome in Little Solace -- but when it came to privacy, along with sanity, Papalymo much preferred the shelter of a quiet lookout post.<br/>
<br/>
It was <em>important</em>, Papalymo often liked to remind Lyse, to maintain good relationships with one's allies as a means of thanks. This included not trekking in mud, not drinking all the ale in the cupboards, and assuredly not <em>bleeding</em> all over everything. <br/>
<br/>
Lyse had heroically managed two out of the three when he heard her tromping up the short stairwell leading to the watchtower's door. It was still early in the evening; Papalymo had stayed behind to finish recording the latest aether readings from the East Shroud while Lyse had insisted on another patrol. <em>Just in case</em>, she had said, and he had rolled his eyes and considered himself lucky to not have her attempting to clamber up the tower like a squirrel again. <br/>
<br/>
But when Lyse finally came back inside, grinning like a lunatic, he slapped down his quill in shock and scowled at the disheveled mess of herself that she had hauled through the door. <br/>
<br/>
"Look at you!" he yelped, dismayed by the clear bruise already purpling along her jaw. One of her sleeves hung loose, halfway torn off. Instinctively, he glanced down to her boots. She had wisely wiped them off, which only mollified him a little. "Yda! What did you do, pick a fight with every poacher you could find?"<br/>
<br/>
Her nonchalance was undampened by his displeasure. "Just a little argy-bargy with our local Garleans," she sang out, pulling off her mask and shaking out her hair. Sweat and grime had drawn a line across her nose and cheeks. When she grinned, it curved up merrily too. "We're <em>right there</em> by the Castrum, Papalymo! If we leave them be, they'll only incite the sylphs again, and then we might see Ramuh summoned once more. Why <em>shouldn't</em> I take advantage of the opportunity to keep them in check? It's practically our job as Scions, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"No!" Dismayed, he watched her make a loud sniff and then wipe at her nose, which had begun to bleed again. "That is what <em>Gridania's</em> forces are for, Yda. They have the resources to continue monitoring the imperials, and it remains <em>vital </em>that they do so in order to accurately measure hostile troop movements and position their own. Exterminating every imperial patrol by yourself is neither a proper allocation of their strength, <em>nor</em> yours! Come <em>here</em>," he finally burst out, aghast with how she was continuing to make tiny bubbling snorts and blot at her nostrils with the back of her hand instead of a cloth. "Sit <em>down</em>, before your complete lack of hygiene gets us evicted!"<br/>
<br/>
Thankfully enough, Lyse listened this time, padding over and flopping down on the ground beside his chair. "What's the harm in making friends with a hoplomachus or two?" she protested, even as he knuckled her chin up until she properly tilted back her head. She made a stubborn snort anyway, but accepted the handkerchief he gave her and pressed it against the nosebleed to sop up a fresh drip. "Or twenty? Five. Twenty-five. We're talking hypotheticals still."<br/>
<br/>
Papalymo scowled, taking a clean handkerchief to her cheeks to wipe away some of the dirt. This close, he could see the deeper exhaustion that was lining her face, turning her expression muzzy and unfocused. Her eyes were bloodshot, veined through and squinting even in the candlelight of the watchtower.</p>
<p>This hadn't been the first extra patrol she had taken on voluntarily during the trip. Papalymo dimly remembered the rest, her departures half-heard over his own labors as he had paged through his annotations. He had assumed that Lyse had merely sought an excuse to escape the tedious process of documentation, but no amount of simple strolls through the forest could have wrung her dry like this. <br/>
<br/>
Her voice was muffled beneath the handkerchief, but Papalymo could still largely understand it. "I mean, even the <em>Garleans</em> can't have unlimited troops just lying around. Eventually, they'll just... run out. Right? All I have to do is... make that happen."<br/>
<br/>
"<em>Lyse</em>," he said sternly, which caused her to flinch, glancing around automatically in case anyone else was listening. Then she returned her gaze to him, nervously biting her lip. "You are pushing yourself too hard. You <em>need</em> to stop. You cannot save the entire world with only your two fists."<br/>
<br/>
Guilt and frustration both warred across her face, twin stormclouds that twisted around the other like poisonous snakes. In the end, it was guilt which won out first.<br/>
<br/>
"What other choice <em>is</em> there, Papalymo?" Straightening her head up, Lyse lowered the handkerchief so that she could better protest; her nose, thankfully, had stopped oozing. "I know that the work of the Scions is important! But the refugees from Ala Mhigo need protection too, and I'm -- I'm in such a better place than they are. If I don't jump in whenever I can, doesn't that make me just as bad as the people in Ul'dah, turning away and pretending not to see?"<br/>
<br/>
Papalymo clicked his tongue in irritation until she moved her hand completely aside and allowed him to continue mopping off her face. "And a Primal will slaughter the land itself. It will hardly matter then <em>what </em>condition anyone is in -- because they will all be <em>dead</em>, Yda. Remember that. You are already saving their lives, even though they remain unaware of it."<br/>
<br/>
The argument was a rational one. He knew Lyse understood it. Her carefree tendencies had always managed to help her walk the balance before, in her own way.<br/>
<br/>
They all had to find their own guidelines of how much they could give, when the world demanded it all.<br/>
<br/>
But today, she seemed to waver longer, tugging one leg into a sprawl as she sat meekly beneath his fussing. "What if it's not enough, Papalymo? What if I've just... <em>convinced</em> myself that I'm doing everything I can, when I'm still preserving my own comforts first? And then, as I sleep in a bed each night and have good meals and clothes on my back, and friends all around me, the Ala Mhigan Resistance continues to struggle while people back in my homeland starve and die. I mean, I <em>know </em>that what we do matters," she continued, the reckless pace of her words now racing away from her own breath, leaving her lungs scrambling behind. "But while I'm <em>here</em>, and I can help... shouldn't I?"<br/>
<br/>
Papalymo's hand slowed in wiping at her chin. With a sigh, he set aside the dirtied handkerchief and then plucked the bloodied one out of Lyse's fingers, discarding both scraps of cloth on the table beside his aether journal.<br/>
<br/>
It was rare when Lyse brooded, he knew. But that made it no less real.<br/>
<br/>
"For those who are driven, no amount of effort will seem like enough." Lyse's hair remained a cloud of snarls and tangles. Papalymo began to brush his fingers carefully across it, guiding it to lay flat once more. "Even if you should hand every morsel that comes to your mouth to another, and stripped every thread from your back to keep someone else warm, all you may perceive is not what you have helped, but how much is left wanting."<br/>
<br/>
With methodical patience, he continued to smooth down Lyse's hair with small pats of his hand. The strands were wild and sweaty from being trapped under a cap for so long. Sitting down, she was at the right height for him to reach; he barely had to stretch.<br/>
<br/>
"When all is said and done, my dear Yda, the question we must ask ourselves is not how much have we accomplished. It is, rather, if you were able to aid at least one other soul." Picking out a piece of what looked like bark from her hair, he flicked it onto the desk. "It is through <em>them </em>-- and not us -- that we will be able to determine if what we have done is enough."<br/>
<br/>
The words seemed of little comfort; Lyse only continued to look downcast. She leaned into his palm with a bump of her skull against his bones. "Can I even do that much, I wonder?"<br/>
<br/>
Papalymo's hand stopped. He allowed it to rest upon her head, his fingers cupped over the pale, golden strands as he answered softly, "Can any of us, really?"<br/>
<br/>
But before she could lose too much heart, he forced himself to lift his voice again in a firm reminder. "And I don't mean by killing those soldiers either! That's certainly changing a life, but <em>not </em>in the manner I was referring to. Take the water crystals and the tub, and go wash yourself off before you stay another <em>moment </em>in here. I'm amazed one of their hounds hasn't tracked you all the way back by now, following your sweat alone." <br/>
<br/>
A smile finally blossomed over Lyse's face, though it was closer to a grimace, still struggling through its rue. She turned her head to examine her damaged sleeve, picking at it as if the damage would convince him to change his mind.  "But my clothes -- "<br/>
<br/>
Rolling his eyes, Papalymo clambered up to stand on his chair, reaching across the desk for his supplies. "I'll stitch them up while you bathe -- though I should <em>hope </em>you would wear fresh ones after. Now, shoo! If the world's to be saved, then I assure you: the most crucial step is for you to get yourself clean <em>first</em>."<br/>
<br/>
</p>
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